Page 56 of Canvas of Lies
Kat’s lips quirked at my use of the wordhacking,but her tone was gentle and her gaze intent on my face as she said, “What do you want to do, Nico? What’s our end goal?”
You,I wanted to say.You are the beginning and the end for me.
The stubborn set of her jaw made me think she could see the truth written in my eyes. It wasn’t that I thought she’d disagree with that particular sentiment, only that I knew she was determined to come out on top in this battle with her father, for my sake.
“I still want the painting back,” I said quietly. “But if I can’t have it, I’m petty enough that I want to make sure he doesn’t get to keep it, either. The longer he has it, the greater the chance of him findingwhat my father hid.”
There was a look on her face that I didn’t like, one that said she would do battle on my behalf if it came down to it.
“No matter what, Kitten, I will not put you in harm’s way. You are more important to me than the painting.”
Kat rolled her eyes. “Fortunately for us both, I’m a grown woman and fully capable of making my own choices. My father might be a sleazeball and a cheat, but he won’t hurt me.”
Of course, that didn’t mean she believed I was safe from her father’s underhanded methods of retribution. I wondered if I’d have an easier time keeping Kat safe if she weren’t so focused on doing the same for me.
“Are you sure of that?” I demanded. “Really, truly, one hundred percent sure? You ran away from the cabin because you were terrified of what his thugs might do to me. Can you really be so certain that he wouldn’t send them after you, once he knows you’re working with me? That he won’t want to punish what he sees as your betrayal, because you’re siding with me over him?”
For a moment, her gaze flickered away from me, which was confirmation enough. She’d been grounded for weeks once after standing up for me to her father when he accused me of scratching some antique side table in the library.
No matter how much she hated that I was right, my point stood. Aidan Willoughby had stolen a family heirloom from a man who’d worked for him for decades, then lied publicly about that painting’s origin for his own gain. There was a greater plan in play, I was sure of that, one most likely rooted in money.
What was worth more to the man, the daughter he’d cast aside so easily or millions of dollars? It was an easy answer, but how far would he go to keep what he’d falsely claimed as his own?
“I still say it’s safer for me than it is for you,” she insisted, scowling at me.
I surprised her by laughing instead of arguing my point. “Fine, we’ll have to agree to disagree, but I’m going to take this standoff as a sign that we shouldn’t get directly involved. Either of us. That leaves us with waiting it out to see how your mother gets on, or slipping the photos to the press. Which one sounds like a better plan to you?”
The flash of defiance drained slowly out of her as she thought it over. “Let’s give it a few days, at least, to see if anything else happens between my parents. I’m not sure leaking the photos to Evelyn directly would be the best course of action, since I don’t want to paint a target on her back, either. He’ll be pissed enough as it is if he realizes it was her interview that brought my mother down on his head.”
Nodding my agreement, I slid an arm around her shoulders. Tomorrow, we’d both return to our regular lives. Another few days would give me more time to analyze the risks of both options and work through any hiccups I might be able to foresee.
Hopefully, the best path forward would become clear.
After I walked Kat to work the next morning, lingering just long enough for Erin to walk in on another searing embrace, I headed back home and sat down in my office. While half mybrain worked on a problem for a client, the other part considered the variables at hand.
Ultimately, it came down to one simple fact: confronting Aidan Willoughby was a dangerous proposition.
The photos would make it abundantly clear who was behind the discovery. There was simply no way to hide that if we went public. Still, I thought it was safest to poke the bear from a distance—and to accept that the outcome wasn’t likely to be what I hoped for.
Leverage,I mused, thinking about the SD card and my father’s cryptic explanation.
The photos provided leverage, especially once public opinion got involved. Willoughby liked to present himself as the white knight of the legal world, the rehabilitated bad boy who’d seen the error of his wild ways after he was caught cheating on his wife, the family man who’d raised his daughter alone after a very public, very messy divorce.
He was going to be angry if made to admit he’d lied. Wouldn’t it be better if that anger were directed toward his ex-wife, rather than his daughter’s lover? Or, worse yet, his daughter herself? Waiting for him to speak out would certainly be safer for Kat than forcing him into action.
By lunchtime, I’d finished my work for the day and was able to focus all of my attention on the problem at hand. I scoured news sites, social media, anything that might indicate where things stood between Willoughby and his ex-wife. It hadonly been a few days since Julia Willoughby-Chesterfield arrived back in the United States, and she’d made good use of her time.
I’d always found the woman terrifyingly beautiful, the ice queen running The Castle of my youth. Never anything less than perfectly coiffed and garbed, her dyed blonde hair was several shades lighter and harsher than Kat’s honey locks. She had blue eyes the same color as her daughter’s, but they’d always felt entirely different when they landed on me—which hadn’t been often, thankfully. Where Kat’s sparkled with intelligence and good humor, Julia’s had forever been cold, calculating, constantly seeking some kind of advantage out of every situation.
Of course, I realized I was probably biased, looking back on my childhood. As a motherless child, I’d longed for the warmth and love my father had so frequently described when he talked about my mom.
Kat’s mother was nothing of the sort, even before she went away.
On the day she left with Ferdinand Chesterfield for St. Croix, I could still recall with perfect clarity the desolation in Kat’s eyes. I never understood how anyone could simply walk away from their own child, especially one as easy to love as Kat.
I rubbed a fist against my chest, fighting the ache. If the wound still felt so raw for me, how did Kat bear it? Could I really ask her to face down not only her asshole father, but her heartless mother, as well?
I forced myself to stop dwelling and turned back to my search, replaying each clip I’d found of Julia speaking toreporters about the painting. She looked just as I remembered her, though perhaps a bit tighter around the mouth and eyes. Even with a megawatt smile for the handsome young newscaster, she seemed as cold as ever. I closed my eyes to focus on the words instead of the image.
